Yuck, Valentine’s Day. Or, “Single Awareness Day.”
Single Awareness Day? Dear God.
I mean, whatever. So I’m 25 years old. I come home to a cat and a fish called Schmitz. Don’t make fun of the name; I think it suits him just fine.
My best girls all have boyfriends. They get all lovey-dovey and do the whole “dinner and roses” nonsense that really gets on my nerves. My last boyfriend hated Valentine’s Day. I mean, one year he gave me a bag of chips. Can you imagine? Chips make me bloated.
So you’re wondering what I do? Well, not a whole lot.
I go to work at a fantastic establishment called Denny’s. I wait on tables and pour coffee. I am on my feet constantly and I look oh-so-adorable in my little fancy get-up. Actually, I don’t – I look bloated. Oh well.
So I’m at dinner one night with one of my best friends and she asks me, “When was your last date?” And I sit there, scratching my head and totally draw a blank. My friend asks again, “Um, don’t you remember?” I shake my head no.
Well actually, I do remember this one time. It was a while back, but probably the last date/interaction with a boy that I’ve had in a long while…
He was that boy who you always thought was cute back in high school or college, but never thought you had a chance with. He’s that boy that you barely knew, but grew an instant connection with. He’s that boy I fell for in an instant after he called me with his first hello. Oy.
So I remember seeing him around campus. Quite the ladies man. Dated lots of chicks. He was cute and he probably still is.
Of course at that time I was dating (might have been Mr. Potato Chip at the time) and although I always thought this boy was cute, what were the chances of us ever having any sort of romantic connection anyway?
Well, there is this thing called social networking. I’m a member of just about every one, so that I can, you know, meet people. Okay, stop laughing. I tweet, get over it.
So let’s fast-forward a few years. I’m online one day, minding my business. Was probably tending to my cows on Farmville, and then one day out of the blue, this tall drink of water writes on my wall.
Wow. He said hello? Wow.
So of course I respond and before you know it, we’re talking every single day. We talked about our dreams, our futures, our pasts, our mistakes, our hopes and… each other.
One problem though. He lives in New York. And where do I live? Oh, right. The wonderful state of Oregon.
He already knew that it wasn’t going to work out romantically, although we obviously had developed feelings for one another. Not a day would go by without me hearing from him. And we’d talk for hours. I hated it. Part of me wanted to just blow it off and part of me still had this tiny ounce of hope that we had a chance. Who knows.
One night, we talked about “us”, trying to decipher exactly what “we” were. It was hard. I’ve never been a fan of the whole long distance relationship thing, but I couldn’t get enough of this guy. Sucks.
So we decided to try and visit each other at least once to even see if we could possibly work out. So we met halfway. Um, halfway ended up being Kansas. Yeah, that was fun.
But anyway, over the course of one weekend, we dated, got married and divorced (figuratively speaking, of course).
The first day was awesome. He held my hand. We ate a nice dinner, cuddled at the mini-golf course, and kissed and all that jazz. But then it got awkward. Still can’t figure out exactly what happened. Was it Kansas? Was it the fact that my highlights were fading?
The second day was filled with lots of movies, driving around, and well feeling like either 1. Best friends or 2. An old married couple. Everything seemed routine, not spectacular. It was just the oddest feeling in the world.
Day three: divorce. I was pretty irritated by this time and he could tell something was bothering me. So I asked him what the hell was going on and he says that old familiar line, “I think we’re better off as friends.” Ouch. So who knows, right? Who knows if I’ll see him in the flesh again? And when’s the next flight out of Kansas?
I cried over this dude. And I got over it. We talk and we don’t talk. So sadly, this was the last guy I had anything with. And thanks to my dear friend at dinner that one night, I just had to be reminded of Mr. Kansas (sorry, I’m really bad with nicknames).
Oh well, Happy Single Awareness Day. I work that night anyway. Better to be at work pouring coffee than sitting at home with a bag of chips and a fish named Schmitz.